The Dangers of Floo Travel
by Ijoan
Summary: In one world Hermione Granger's a war hero and lawyer about to marry Ron Weasley. In another, she's a ward of the Malfoy family and brilliant spell researcher loyal to Lord Voldemort. A Floo accident causes the two to switch places.


**Disclaimer:** The rights to the original series and characters belong to J.K. Rowling. I make no profit from writing this.

**Summary:** In one world Hermione Granger's a war hero and lawyer engaged to Ron Weasley. In another, she's a ward of the Malfoy family and brilliant spell researcher loyal to Lord Voldemort. A Floo accident causes the two to switch places. One finds herself in a world where she's about to marry the man of her nightmares. The other finds herself held captive by a resistance group along with the biggest prat in existence.

_The Dangers of Floo Travel_

**Chapter One**

Hermione stumbled out of the fireplace, coughing. Her stomach turned with nausea and eyes watered. The bright, flashing colors, and the twists and turns of the Floo ride played through her mind. She took deep breaths, trying to calm her heart, and fingered the bushy mess that replaced her smooth locks. Soot covered her fingers, arms, and clothing. Her right foot lacked a shoe. Hermione felt the carpet scratch against her skin.

That was odd.

The Malfoys only used the best and scratchy carpets were most definitely _not_ the best. Hermione's eyes jumped around the room in a panic. A light, sandalwood desk and bookcase stood in opposite corners. Framed pictures and newspaper articles covered parts of one wall, too far for Hermione to make out. Trophies and awards stood locked in a glass cabinet.

The atmosphere of the study felt simple and homey. It lacked the splendor of the Malfoy Manor and most definitely was not the Manor's Floo Hall, the place Hermione meant to arrive. "Right then," she said. "That's easily fixed."

Turning back to the fireplace, Hermione found a bowl of silver Floo powder on the mantelpiece. She grabbed a handful and threw it into the fireplace, watching it roar green. Her stomach turned at the thought of going through another spinning ordeal. But she set herself and stepped into the flames, opening her mouth to call out the destination's name.

At the same time the door to the study drew open, and a young, redheaded woman stepped in. She squinted at the fireplace. "Hermione?" She sounded surprised.

But "Malfoy Manor" left Hermione's mouth soon after and she spun through the flames, stumbling out of a larger, more opulent fireplace. Hermione glanced around. The pale marble floor, arched ceiling, and other white granite fireplaces meant she'd arrived at the right place.

For a moment, Hermione's thoughts lingered on the redheaded woman. She'd worn muggle clothing. A midnight blue party dress that hugged her curves yet the study contained moving pictures and Floo powder. What kind of witch dared to dress like a muggle? And the woman knew her name…

But that could be dealt with later. Her state of dress was a more pressing matter at the moment. How could she show up at the dinner table looking like a disaster? She'd shame the Malfoy name. Hermione was in the process of deciding the best way of sneaking upstairs to change when the door opened.

Her heart stopped in her chest. A lump of something unpleasant rose up in her throat. Hermione closed her eyes for a bit, wishing that it were one the house elves. But they needn't use doors, and so she prepared herself, trying to think which of the three Malfoys she'd rather face.

A cool, lethargic voice drawled out: "The house elves said there was a visitor. But I—"

The Young Master Malfoy stood before her, but not as she knew him. Instead of shining black boots and strict dark robes, the man in front of her stood in a dark purple bathrobe and fuzzy slippers. His hair hung long and loose and stubble covered his face. She'd never seen him look like this in her life. Always put together, always in order. Hair cropped and slicked back. Clean shaven. Rigid posture. That was Draco Malfoy, not this man with a slouch who looked at her through heavy, bruised eyes.

He seemed to be having as much trouble coming to terms with her appearance as she with his. "What the hell? What are _you_ doing in the Floo Hall?"

"I—I—" Hermione could think of nothing to say. This wasn't right. She took a desperate look around the Hall. The right statues, carvings, and tile pattern met her eyes but all a bit dustier, dirtier than she remembered. Merlin, had she just associated the Malfoy family home with the word _dirty_? It suddenly became a lot harder to breathe.

"Spit it out, Granger."

Granger? Who was Granger? Was he calling _her_ Granger? So many thoughts raced through her head—_did he not recognize her?_ And all she managed was a: "What?"

He brushed the stubble on his chin with thumb and forefinger. "Merlin, Granger. Haven't seen you for more than a year, then you show up in my house, looking like your cat chewed you over and spit you out, and you can't say a word."

So many things were wrong with that statement. She didn't own a cat. She'd seen him just that morning. And he never spoke like that to her…or anyone. Hermione brought a hand to her head. Her temples squeezed and hurt. For the first time in her life her mind went blank. All thoughts gone. Brain empty., "I'm so sorry, Young Master Malfoy. I—I think we need to contact the ministry. Something isn't right."

For a long moment he stared at her in shock. Mouth hanging open, eyes round and suddenly clear. "W—what did you call me?" And then in a mutter: "And did you just suggest calling the fools at the _ministry_ for help?"

Treason. Hermione's mind screamed the word. Defamation of the government. She took deep breaths. The Malfoys were loyal. Something was wrong here and Hermione suspected the rebels. A plan began to come together in her mind. She just needed to contact the ministry. But how?

He gave her another long look, taking in the soot, the terrible hair. Hermione's face grew crimson. He sighed. "Come on in, Granger. Have a seat while I give Potter a call and tell him where to find what used to be the Weasel's better half."

He lead her deeper into the house. Through halls with finery a little less fine than what Hermione was used to seeing. Dated rugs, misplaced statues, empty vases, and lone curtains where paintings used to hang all covered with thin layers of dust. To anyone else this would've looked like a beautiful, extravagant home but she'd grown up in these halls and to her it seemed to teeter on the verge disrepair. Whatever spells the rebels used were on a grander scale than Hermione imagined.

He opened the door and led her inside to an open and airy sitting room. The gesture surprised her, but the sitting room even more so. A gilded fireplace dominated one wall. Pale yellow wallpaper and large iron wrought mirrors covered the rest of the walls. A twisting chandelier hung from the ceiling, the candles lighting up the room. The problem was that Mrs. Malfoy had completely remodeled the room last spring.

He motioned for her to take a seat. And she sat. He watched her from the door for a moment. "Always knew the reading would make you go barmy." With that he shut the door and she was left alone.

When Hermione heard the last echo of his footsteps fade away, she called for a house elf.

It bowed low, huge ears brushing the ground. "What Miss be needing?"

"Bring me some quill and parchment."

It reappeared only moments later, and Hermione took the items from it.

"Miss be needing anything else?'

Already bent over her work, Hermione held up a hand. "Wait a moment and have this delivered to the ministry when I'm done."

She wrote a couple of lines. Nothing too detailed but enough to pass the enormity of the situation along. In the end she signed,

Hermione, Ward of the Malfoy House

Handing the parchment to the house elf, Hermione hoped that the ministry would respond immediately.

* * *

Hermione Granger put a hand to her mouth. Merlin, she could feel liquid rushing up her throat. Throwing up on Ginny's carpet would not be a good idea but that Floo ride had been horrible. She choked whatever tried coming out of her mouth back, making a face and trying not to think about what she just swallowed. Glancing up, she caught sight of marble and granite. She found herself in an echoing room with an arched ceiling and white marble fireplaces.

She just had time to think, _This isn't Godric's Hollow_, before an arm wrapped itself around her neck and jerked her back.

The next thing Hermione felt was a kick against her ribs. She groaned, rolling over on a hard, cement floor. Her head ached and her stomach twisted. The bile rose to her throat again, and she immediately sat up, turning to the side as liquid spewed out of her mouth. Her nails raked against the grainy ground, and she made a face, gathering saliva to rinse her mouth and then spitting it out. The acidic smell her made her nose wrinkle.

Wiping her mouth with a sleeve, Hermione got a mouthful of soot. "Merlin." She spat it out and groaned. Hermione looked around the dim room. Thick iron bars greeted her sight first, then looking up she caught sight of a man. For a moment she didn't recognize him. More muscled than he'd ever been in school, hair shorter, and expression more severe, he looked nothing like the Draco Malfoy she knew.

He watched her rise to her feet with a dark expression. Hermione ignored him in favor of dealing with a headache. Her head swam, and she brought a hand to it. Where was she? Her bare toes curled against the cold floor. No shoes…She felt the rough patches of the ground through the holes in her stockings, and she'd worn the pair especially for tonight.

In a sudden panic, she checked for her wand only to find it missing. She sighed. No surprise there.

No windows in sight, an empty stone hallway beyond the bars, and a giant prat standing in front of her. Great. Hermione took a step away from where she threw up. She'd rather not step in that without shoes. Brushing back a wild mass of curls, Hermione noticed Malfoy's steel tipped boots. Her eyes jumped to his. He watched her closely, brow furrowed, lips thin.

She placed a hand to the tender place at the bottom of her ribs. "Did you just kick me with those?" Malfoy kept his eyes strained on her. She read nothing in his eyes but only because of the room's terrible lighting. "I can't believe this. You can't just go around kicking people to wake them up, Malfoy. Merlin. You've always been such a bloody prat."

Hermione turned away from him and approached the wall, running her hands over the concrete. "The concrete means this is a muggle building, but it's warded. Heavily."

She sighed, shoulders sagging, and rested her forehead against the stone. Why did this have to happen today? There went the engagement dinner.

A sudden weight pushed her into the wall, knocking the air from her lungs. The bubbles in the concrete dug into and scraped against her face. She couldn't breathe. Hermione felt hot breath on her cheek and an iron grip on her wrists. "Are you insane, Malfoy? What are you doing?" It hurt to move her jaw against the stone. She cursed the tight pencil skirt underneath her robes; it gave little room to maneuver—even if she weren't immobilized by the weight of Malfoy's body.

She felt him lean closer. His lips almost brushed against her temple as they moved. "Who are you? You must be an idiot if you think your acting skills combined with the polyjuice can fool me."


End file.
